Part 10 (1/2)

It cannot be said that Jimmieboy was entirely happy after his falling out with the corporal. Of course it was very inconsiderate of the corporal to wake up at the most exciting period of his fairy story, and leave his commanding officer in a state of uncertainty as to the fate of little Tom; but as he walked along the road, and thought the matter all over, Jimmieboy reflected that after all he was himself as much to blame as the corporal. In the first place, he had interrupted him in his story at the point where it became most interesting, though warned in advance not to do so, and in the second, he had not fallen back upon his undoubted right as a general to command the corporal to go to sleep again, and to stay so until his little romance was finished to the satisfaction of his superior officer. The latter was without question the thing he should have done, and at first he thought he would go back and tell the corporal he was very sorry he hadn't done so. Indeed, he would have gone back had he not met, as he rounded the turn, a singular-looking little fellow, who, sitting high in an oak-tree at the side of the road, attracted his attention by winking at him. Ordinarily Jimmieboy would not have noticed anybody who winked at him, because his papa had told him that people who would wink would smoke a pipe, which was very wrong, particularly in people who were as small as this droll person in the tree. But the singular-looking little fellow winked aloud, and Jimmieboy could not help noticing him. Like most small boys Jimmieboy delighted in noises, especially noises that went off like pop-guns, which was just the kind of noise the tree dwarf made when he winked.

”h.e.l.lo, you!” said Jimmieboy, as the sounds first attracted his attention. ”What are you doing up there?”

”Sitting on a limb and counting the stars in the sky,” answered the dwarf.

Jimmieboy laughed. This seemed such a curious thing to do.

”How many are there?” he asked.

”Seventeen,” replied the dwarf.

”Ho!” jeered Jimmieboy.

”There are, really,” said the dwarf. ”I counted 'em myself.”

”There's more than that,” said Jimmieboy. ”I've had stories told me of twenty-seven or twenty-eight.”

”That doesn't prove anything,” returned the dwarf, ”that is, nothing but what I said. If there are twenty-eight there must be seventeen, so you can't catch me up on that.”

”Come down,” said Jimmieboy. ”I want to see you.”

”I can't come now,” returned the dwarf. ”I'm too busy counting the eighteenth star, but I'll drop my telescope and let you see me through that.”

”I'll help you count the stars if you come,” put in Jimmieboy. ”How many stars can you count a day?”

”Oh, about one and a half,” said the dwarf. ”I could count more than that, only I'm cross-eyed and see double, so that after I've got through counting, I have to divide the whole number by two to get the proper figures, and I never was good at dividing. I've always hated division--particularly division of apples and peaches. There is no meaner sum in any arithmetic in the world than that I used to have to do every time I got an apple when I was your age.”

”What was the sum?” asked Jimmieboy.

”It was to divide one apple by three boys,” returned the queer little man. ”Most generally that would be regarded as a case of three into one, but in this instance it was one into three; and, worse than all, while it pretended to be division, and was as hard as division, as far as I was concerned it was subtraction too, and I was always the leftest part of the remainder.”

”But I don't see why you had to divide your apples every time you got any,” said Jimmieboy.

”That's easy enough to explain,” said the dwarf. ”If I didn't divide, and did eat the whole apple, I'd have a fearful pain in my heart; whereas if I gave my little brothers each a third, it would often happen that they would get the pain and not I. After one or two experiments I fixed it so that I never got the pain part any more--for you know every apple has an ache in it--and they did, so, you see, I kept myself well as could be, and at the same time built up quite a reputation for generosity.”

”How did you fix it so as to give them the pain part always?” queried Jimmieboy.

”Why, I located the part of the apple that held the pain. I did not divide one apple I got, but ate the whole thing myself, part by part. I studied each part carefully, and discovered that apples are divided by Nature into three parts, anyhow. Pleasure was one part, pain was another part, and the third part was just nothing--neither pleasure nor pain.

The core is where the ache is, the crisp is where the pleasure is, and the skin represents the part which isn't anything. When I found that out I said, 'Here! What is a good enough plan for Nature is a good enough plan for me. I'll divide my apples on Nature's plan.' Which I did. To one brother I gave the core; to the other the skin; the rest I ate myself.”

”It was very mean of you to make your brothers suffer the pain,” said Jimmieboy.

”Well, they had their days off. One time one brother'd have the core; another time the other brother'd have it. They took turns,” said the dwarf.

”It was mean, anyhow!” cried Jimmieboy, who was so fond of his own little brother that he would gladly have borne all his pains for him if it could have been arranged.

”Well, meanness is my business,” said the dwarf.

”Your business?” echoed Jimmieboy, opening his eyes wide with astonishment, meanness seemed such a strange business.